


Upside Down, You're Turning Me

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: ABO, Alpha!Steve, Blood, Fighting, M/M, Multiple demodogs were harmed in the making of this fic, Omega!Billy, Sex Pollen???, monster fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: “Let me get this straight. You want me to go into the middle of the fucking woods in below zero temperatures to find someone who is probably high as a kite and just having the time of his damned life?”“We’re worried--” Max starts and Billy sneers.“That sounds like a personal problem, Maxine. Steve is a big boy, an alpha, and can handle--” Billy tears his gaze away from Max as Dustin climbs on top of his hood and sits there. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”“Not moving,” Dustin shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.





	Upside Down, You're Turning Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oop/gifts).



> For the Harringrove Holiday Exchange! Gifted to Oop(Al), or @areyouactuallystupid, on Tumblr!
> 
> Important: ~*~ indicates change of POV.
> 
> I had a great time writing this and I hope you love it, Al!

 

 

 

 

 ****“No.”

 

“But Billy--”

 

“I said _no_ , shitbird, what the fuck else do you want from me?”

 

“You could stop being an asshole and help us find Steve!”

 

Billy pauses, foot on the clutch and key jammed into the ignition of his Camaro outside the arcade. He looks over at Max and her group of misfits. Being asked to do anything pisses him off, especially if he gets absolutely nothing out of it. Not to mention, his plans were to join a party, get trashed, and forget about the aches in his ribs where Neil’s military ring taught him about respect and responsibility.

 

Which, Billy thinks, is staring him in the face in the form of _children_ , none of which he wants to fucking help. Max stabbed him in the neck with a needle and the rest of them look like tiny chihuahuas that want to take his ankles off and then maybe, _probably_ , drag him through some dirt. They’re all glaring at him and it’s been, what, three months since his and Harrington’s fight? Hell, they were on _okay_ terms. Sometimes, they shot the shit after school and smoked a joint while watching their shitty football team lose to shittier outside teams.

 

They aren’t close, but it’s the closest thing to a friend that Billy has had in a long time.

 

Still, the look of triumph on Max’s face makes him want to run her over. Twice.

 

Billy takes a pull on his cigarette and then blows the smoke in her face. It wipes that look off, at least, and she’s waving the wisps away with a look of revulsion that makes him grin.

 

“You’re _disgusting_.”

 

“And you’re wasting my time. What the hell has Harrington gotten himself into now?”

 

The kids give each other looks that make Billy’s skin prickle. He knows something is going on behind the scenes _somewhere_. He’s picked it up off of conversations that he’s heard bits and pieces of. The problem? None of the kids trust him. He doesn’t blame them, necessarily, but it isn’t like he’s thrown one around or made any _significant_ trouble since his and Steve’s fight.

 

“He went into the woods and we can’t find him,” Dustin finally says and Billy raises an eyebrow.

 

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go into the middle of the fucking woods in below zero temperatures to find someone who is _probably_ high as a kite and just having the time of his damned life?”

 

“We’re _worried_ \--” Max starts and Billy sneers.

 

“That sounds like a personal problem, Maxine. Steve is a big boy, an _alpha_ , and can handle--” Billy tears his gaze away from Max as Dustin climbs on top of his hood and sits there. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Not moving,” Dustin shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Look, we don’t like you, either--” Lucas starts and it makes Billy cackle, “--but Steve was supposed to pick us up and he’s _never_ late. Man, he’s a good babysitter. He doesn’t just _forget_ like that.”

 

Which, point. Billy levels his gaze on all five munchkins and then exhales hard through his nose. They aren’t wrong. Harrington has a spine made of pudding except when it comes to the kids and his friends. If they’re messed with? His whole alpha side roars to the top. Billy likes seeing it even though it threatens to tear down his whole alpha-facade. He can’t go around wet between the legs, _thanks_.

 

Billy taps his rings against his steering wheel and then licks his lower lip as he thinks about what Steve would want him to do. He would definitely not want Billy to hit reverse as hard as possible to force curly top off of his hood. Besides, it might scratch the paint. He finally yanks the e-brake, swings his door open, and climbs out.

 

“Get in. I’m dropping you all off at the Byers’ and then I’ll go find your precious babysitter,” Billy pinches the bridge of his nose as they all start speaking at once. “That is your _only_ option. That’s it. You get in and you go to the Byers’ and I find Harrington. It’s that or nothing at all.”

 

“That’s technically _two_ and you weren’t our _best_ option, but you’re our _only_ option, so--” Dustin rambles and then stops when Max smacks him upside the head. At least Billy didn’t have to do it. He would have hit harder. After the kids squash themselves into the Camaro, Billy climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the engine over.

 

“This is like, bringing back the _worst_ memories,” Mike mumbles and Billy thinks that Harrington is probably a saint because these kids are _awful_. He tries to distract himself by driving, by thinking about what Steve could possibly be doing wandering around the woods in nut-freezing weather.

 

“Can we talk about your evil plans for Steve?” Dustin pipes up.

 

Billy should have just left them there.

 

“Dustin--”

 

“Evil _plans_ , Max!”

 

“He’s not evil. He’s just an _asshole_.”

 

“I can put this car in a ditch,” Billy bites out and Max rolls her eyes.

 

“No, you won’t. This is your baby. You wouldn’t wreck it.”

 

Harrington is a saint and Max is a bitch.

 

“We should tell him about where Steve is,” Will’s voice almost makes Billy crawl out of his skin. The kid is always quiet and staring in a way that feels like he’s investigating Billy’s soul. He’s perfect for one of those _Goosebumps_ covers.

 

“ _Will_ ,” Mike hisses and Lucas punches him in the shoulder.

 

“If he’s going there, he has to _know_ ,” Lucas points out and Max nods.

 

“Do you believe in monsters?” Dustin asks and Billy looks over, takes another drag of his cigarette, and then flicks it out the window.

 

“Sure do,” Billy mutters as he exhales smoke out of his nose. He’s known monsters for a long time.

 

“Well…”

 

And in fifteen minutes, Billy’s head is spinning with the Upside Down and his stomach is in knots because Harrington is in the tunnels where the thing _lives_ and he got roped into saving him. Maybe he doesn’t need saving, though, because apparently he’s awful against people but great against monsters.

 

It also explains that fucking bat that almost took his nuts off.

 

More importantly, Billy is starting to grasp why Harrington has dark circles under his eyes, why his lights are on all night, why he hates dark, enclosed spaces, and why, whenever they’re high, he looks like he wants to spill his guts but always pulls back and laughs, instead. His usual line is _I’m crazy, man, don’t worry about it_.

 

Now Billy is worried about it. He’s worried about the exhaustion and the empty laughter and the haunted look in Harrington’s eyes. While he isn’t an alpha and the urge to protect is usually slim in omegas, it’s pulsing through Billy like blood, pounding in his ears and making him itch in places he knows he can’t scratch. At least, not until he finds Harrington and knows he’s safe.

 

It’s his fucking luck, too, that Jonathan and Nancy are on some ‘college visitation’ trip. It’s just him and Harrington and the Upside Down. Fan-fucking- _tastic_. He still doesn’t even know if he completely believes the little shits, even after he drops them off and drives until it’s just him, the setting sun, and Hawkins’ dead fields. He’s still thinking this might be a joke to get back at him when he parks his car and pulls himself out of it, another cigarette between his knuckles. It better not be some ha-ha bullshit because they know he hates the cold and would rather get punched in the face than be outside for more than five minutes.

 

Hawkins’ cold almost makes him want to quit smoking.

 

Almost.

 

Billy flexes his fingers and pops his trunk. The kids mentioned a weapon, but all he has is a tire iron for emergencies. He guesses it’ll do. It’s heavy enough and he does have his lighter, which demo-whatevers don’t like. Demodogs. Demofucks. Demowhatevers. God, fuck his _life_.

 

Apparently, monster hunting is a sport for thirteen year olds.

 

Apparently, Max had been fighting those things the night she stabbed him full of sedatives. _Bitch_.

 

He twirls the tire iron in his fist, slams the trunk, and lights another cigarette. Maybe he should be in a hurry, but Harrington kept this bullshit from him for months. _Months_. His step-sister has been knee deep in it and if she disappeared? If they couldn’t find her? Neil wouldn’t stop at a lesson. He would probably use his military training to gut him first and then hang him with his own large intestine. Then he could have his perfect family without having to deal with the disgrace of an omega as a son and a lunatic as an ex-wife.

 

Billy grins around his cigarette and walks forward, corn stalks crunching beneath his boots as he does. Just like the kids said--there are subtle markers where Harrington had walked. At least their hunting game’s decent. He never pegged Harrington as stupid, but sometimes some of the things he did made him wonder. Now, he’s pretty sure that Harrington daydreams in class because he’s half-asleep from avoiding nightmares (something he mentioned, like, twice when he was high).

 

The closer Billy gets to the hole in the ground, the more his thoughts begin to race. He isn’t a fucking coward, but just the scent coming up from the pit forces his nose to scrunch. It’s like death mixed with a sourness that can only be described as fear. It reminds him of when he presented as an omega. He’d spent an hour or two on his bedroom floor, breathing through blood and drenched in the remnants of sweat from the beating. After that, pills became his best fucking friend.

 

After Billy tightens his grip on the tire iron, he glances over the maw in the ground and thinks, again, that this is definitely on the top of his _hell no_ list.

 

Steve Harrington was actually #1 on his hell no list, but here he is, ready to follow the dumb bastard into a monster-infested-god-knows-what.

 

Billy squints and the sudden shriek he hears sends a visceral need to run down his spine. He swallows the bitterness it causes on his tongue and closes his eyes. Breathes in and out twice.

 

“If you’re not dead,” Billy mutters as he opens his eyes and begins his climb down into the hole, “I swear, _I’m_ going to murder you.”

 

When Billy’s feet hit the ground, it seeps beneath his boots. _It_ being something that he can’t name. His nose wrinkles at the stench, a mix of road kill and something sour. There’s shit in the air--particles of something. He thinks about the misfit gang and wonders if they gave him enough information to survive.

 

There’s a sneaking suspicion that they didn’t, that this might be a trap, but he brushes that off and evaluates the left and the right side of the tunnels. Knowing Harrington, he probably went straight for the shrieking instead of away from it. He remembers when Steve’s fingers brushed his chest, when that electricity took root at the base of his spine and followed every nerve root path through his system.

 

Harrington likes danger and no one could convince Billy otherwise.

 

The shrieking starts again and Billy turns toward it. His boots are heavy on his feet and they sink with every step. Sometimes, the ground moves beneath him and it startles him enough that he almost face plants. Eventually, he realizes that the shit moving are actually vines.

 

“The fuck is this,” Billy exhales after catching himself on another wall, “fucking sixties horror film? Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

 

Nothing the kids told him could have prepared Billy for the spitting, flower-faced monster that rounds the corner and slams into his side. It was like being hit by a linebacker. Billy collides with the wall and breathes in, a sharp, desperate inhale after his lungs felt like they were pancaked. Something foul rushes over his face and it takes him a second to realize the thing is practically on top of him despite the fact that he’s still somewhat standing.

 

 _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck_ \--

 

Billy swings after his vision comes into focus and the steel collides with the thing’s head. He hears the crack of its skull, but the petals still flare and make an attempt at his arm. He kicks it in the chest, sends it onto its back, and then he’s swinging again. This time, what looks like blood covers its teeth and it gurgles before slumping down.

 

“What the fuck,” Billy squeezes his eyes shut, counts to whatever number he thinks is appropriate because he’s going to lose his fucking _mind_ , and then he pushes toward the high-pitched sounds. His usual tactic isn’t to run, but the urge itches right below his skin. It’s an itch he can’t scratch because Harrington is down here and that motherfucker is probably being torn to shreds.

 

Two more turns and Billy has to press his palm to the slimy wall of the tunnel. His hand slips and his eyes close as fog settles over his mind. He blinks once, twice, and shakes his head. Maybe they didn’t tell him enough. Maybe whatever he’s breathing in is going to kill him. Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Survive years with an ex-military man who teaches lessons through his fists only to succumb to death by _breathing_.

 

Still, panic coils like a snake in his gut as he breathes. The cloud in his mind is dense and lays like a blanket over his thoughts. He forces his eyes open and licks his lips. His skin is beginning to burn. It leaches into his bones, winds through his blood, into his fingertips and his toes. He blinks again and shifts his feet on the ground. It squelches and the bubbling in his stomach is a pretty decent threat that he’s going to lose whatever he had eaten for lunch.

 

Billy is _useless_ like this, and he has no fucking idea what’s happening to him. He steps forward twice and the tunnel in front of him moves, twists, and Billy snarls in frustration. What the _fuck_ is going on? It isn’t like he can stop breathing. It isn’t like he has a choice but to keep going. He _has_ to. Harrington needs to come out alive and okay because--

 

Because people rely on him. People _like_ Harrington. If Billy died down here, he’s pretty sure no one would come looking. Neil would finally have his perfect family--a wife who dotes on him despite his violence and a daughter who won’t turn out to be an omega. It’s like Billy’s a branch that was grafted onto the wrong tree and a lost limb won’t kill a tree. Hell, his mother’s limb hadn’t killed Neil when it fell away. He just became angrier. Meaner. More physical.

 

The heat that swarms his skin takes hold of his gut and Billy doubles over with a groan. The tire iron clatters to the ground and he seethes through his teeth as he tries to pull himself out of his own head so he can be in the present. The shrieks are closer and he can feel the vibration of their claws on the ground. His panic begins to push through the haze in his mind and, as numb as his fingers are, he manages to pick up the end of the tire iron.

 

It has to be the air down here, and if Billy is feeling like this? Like the air is molasses in his throat? He has no idea how Harrington feels. He’s been down here longer, so it has to be worse. His fingers curl tighter around the tire iron while he uses the wall to move forward. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. The heat that bubbles into his gut washes over him like a wave. Billy’s lungs constrict and he struggles to bring any sort of oxygen into his body.

 

There’s a throbbing of need that pulls right behind his navel. It wraps from his stomach to his spine, his chest, spreads through his arms and ends at his fingertips. The noise in his head, barely muffled by the blanket of fog, reminds him of a flurry of bees. He hears another shriek, claws on vines, and it’s fucking _stupid_ because he can’t see straight.

 

The kids didn’t warn him about this. They didn’t _warn him_ \--

 

The thing that collides into him sends him to the ground and his tire iron skitters away before everything goes black.

 

~*~

 

One moment, Steve is wrestling with two dogs and bashing another one’s skull in. The next, they’re scattering after their heads tilt up. It looks like they scented something, and while Steve is _definitely_ sure he doesn’t want to be what they’re going after, he also knows he has to follow.

 

The strange part, though, is that it’s _toward_ the exit. The closer Steve gets while following the demodogs, the more he notices something else in the air. It’s not foul like the death and decay of the tunnels. It’s sweet, almost like a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. It doesn’t belong here, which is why he thinks the domos are chasing it. Whatever it is, it’s piqued their interest more than Steve has.

 

That doesn’t mean Steve lets up, though. As he dodges claws and teeth, he swings and kicks with enough force to send the creatures into the walls. He pants behind his bandanna, exertion making his muscles sore but adrenaline forcing him to keep going. He’s pretty sure that without his goggles, his hair would be in his eyes, slick with sweat and probably the _least_ attractive thing possible.

 

Aside from the black ooze all over him. That’s pretty gross, too.

 

When he rounds the bend of the tunnel, Steve runs right into the wall of that scent that’s driving the demodogs and making _his_ mouth water. He looks around and frustration boils when he can’t find where it’s coming from. Except, then he’s catching the glint of what looks like a weapon. He steps closer, around another bend, and then panic grips his chest and punches him in the gut.

 

Steve doesn’t think--he doesn’t _have_ to. He darts forward and swings his bat across the tail end of a demodog perched on top of a person’s chest. As soon as it topples over, Steve blinks and his mouth falls open.

 

“Hargrove?”

 

He grunts when that same dog lunges and takes him to the ground. The vines against his back are uncomfortable but not as much as the claws digging into his chest. He uses all of his weight to roll over. His bat is _useless_ this close to one, but he manages to reach out and grab the tire iron. As the demodog screams, he jams the tire iron into its throat, through its skull, and shoves himself up onto his feet.

 

“Is that _you_?” Steve steps over to Billy and resists the urge to breathe in. It’s hard to tell down here--what’s Billy and what’s the Upside Down. He knows from experience, though, that the UD doesn’t smell like goddamn snickerdoodles. Steve squints down at Billy and then nudges his side with his shoe. “ _Billy_ ,” he stresses because he can hear more claws, more shrieks, and he knows they have a limited time to get out.

 

So much for finding the gate on his own.

 

When Billy opens his eyes, Steve notices how blown-out his pupils are. Something kicks in his gut and his lips fall open. “Billy--” he hesitates and crouches down. God, he’d think he was a _creep_ if he saw this, but--

 

Steve reaches out, takes a good amount of Billy’s collar into his hand, and tugs it down. He leans and with his free hand, he nudges the bandanna just enough so he can inhale. The smell almost knocks him on his ass. He has to swallow down the saliva gathering underneath his tongue and clamp down on the growl low in his chest.

 

“You’re an _omega_ ,” Steve blurts and it’s not his smoothest, but Billy had come in and walked the walk and talked the talk of an alpha. He had convinced _everyone_ , and here he is, a squirming mess at the bottom of the tunnels with his scent permeating the foulest shit imaginable.

 

“Oh,” Steve blinks again, “oh, _shit,_ dude. I think you’re--I think you’re in _heat_.”

 

Billy returns his blink, his stare, and Steve feels that tug in his gut to protect, to claim. It gnaws in his chest, persistent and demanding. He thinks about all those times he had watched Billy in practice, fierce and unmatched. He thinks about when he first saw Billy in swim trunks without a shirt. He thinks about how this _entire_ time, he had assumed Billy was an alpha and kept his distance.

 

“Fuck you,” Billy finally growls, pulling him out of his thoughts. Steve almost snorts on a laugh.

 

“I mean, _sure_ , but you’re--we need to get out of here,” Steve also needs to not touch Billy. He isn’t sure how far into the heat Billy is, but he’s already reacting. His jeans are getting mysteriously tighter and every time he tries to concentrate on the demodogs, his brain goes to questions like, how slick is Billy right now?

 

Which, rude?

 

“How far along are you?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t like the groan in response or the way Billy turns onto his side and curls up. He watches what looks like a wave hit him and the sound that comes out of Billy is high-pitched and bordering desperate. “Ookay. Far. You’re far into it. What the hell are you doing down here while in _heat_?”

 

Billy doesn’t respond for a moment. He seems to be breathing through whatever forced him to curl up.

 

“On _pills_ ,” Billy bites out in between gasps. “S’not-- _supposed_ \--to happen--”

 

“It’s _definitely_ happening, though,” Steve points out and he thinks Billy might kill him with how low he growls, with the way he twists and throws a fist out. He manages to catch Steve’s calf, but it doesn’t hurt. He startles when Billy grabs his jeans and yanks.

 

“Harrington,” Billy’s voice is a whine and Steve has to swallow every _take care of_ instinct in his body. “Out. Get me _out_ \--”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Right. Okay,” Steve forces himself to stand. He grabs his bat just in time to swing it again. The contact with the demodog is enough to vibrate the bones in his arms and distract him from the scent. At least, for now. He kicks another one and notices, with growing panic, that they seem just as interested in Billy as he is. He’s pretty sure they just want to eat him, though. A human treat that tastes like snickerdoodles.

 

Steve takes a swing at two more before he’s able to crouch down again. He catches his breath first and then slides an arm beneath Billy’s shoulders. He’s hot to the touch, warmth seeping out of his clothes and into Steve’s. That same sugary scent fills Steve’s head and he has to bite down on his lip almost hard enough to break skin to keep from burying his nose into Billy’s neck.

 

“S’posed--” Billy starts, and his words are a little slurred. Steve is thankful that Billy can at least hold some of his weight. It makes hobbling them toward the exit easier. “T’save _your_ ass.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Steve never thought he would be thankful for the bandanna over his nose, but it’s a welcome barrier between him and the sweet scent curling off of Billy’s skin. He keeps swallowing down saliva as it gathers under his tongue and his teeth ache because his instincts are _pretty_ sure he should be balls deep in Billy with his jaw clamped down on his neck.

 

“Well?” Billy sneers and Steve almost rolls his eyes. The guy’s jeans are probably soaked with slick and he’s still trying to be combative.

 

“Look,” Steve’s tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t have a free hand to do it. Instead, he pinches Billy’s side in retaliation. He expects some jab or snarl, but Billy becomes deadweight in his arm and the sound he makes forces Steve’s cock to twitch behind his jeans. The whimper is something guttural and _needy_ driven by something deep inside of Billy’s chest. It reverberates into Steve’s skin, his bones, and he catches his breath just below the mouth of the exit.

 

“Harrington,” Billy’s voice is breathless as he slips against him and Steve has to use every ounce of control he has not to push him down and find out just how wet he is, just how open and slick. His mind keeps screaming _omega_ and _Billy_ and _want_. He looks up, instead, and racks his brain on how the hell they’re going to get out of this hell hole.

 

“ _Steve_ ,” the stress in Billy’s voice this time almost breaks Steve’s chest open.

 

“What?” Steve snaps, his patience for his dick zero to none, which means Billy is less than that. “ _What_ , Hargrove?”

 

When Billy looks up at him, slumped and loose in his arms, Steve can feel the itchiness of guilt crawl beneath his skin. His eyes are impossibly wide, wider than they should be, bordered with too-long lashes and shaped by too-perfect eyebrows. Billy is _gorgeous._  He always has been, but like this, flushed and shivering because his body _wants_ , is a different level. Like, Aphrodite level.

 

It isn’t fair, really.

 

“Why--are y’mad?” Billy draws his eyebrows together and there’s a crease there that makes Steve want to smile. He’s still irritated, though. _Still_.

 

“I’m not _mad_ \--”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, y’are. You--you only say-- _Hargrove_ …” Billy wavers in his arms and Steve tightens his hold, “when you’re _mad_ at me.”

 

“Oh,” Steve blinks and looks down. Billy clearly isn’t focusing with the way he keeps looking around, but he has enough sense to notice that?

 

When did he start noticing that?

 

“Well,” Steve closes his eyes and breathes in, counts back from whatever number pops in his head, and then opens his eyes to look up again. “I have to figure out how to get us out of here while _also_ not taking _advantage_ of you--”

 

“Advantage?” Billy snorts and Steve shoots him a glare.

 

“Yes, advantage. You’re in _heat_ and I could probably nail shit with my dick, Billy,” Steve adjusts his feet, the thought making him ensure that he isn’t, actually, pressed up against Billy.

 

“S’not if I want it,” Billy shrugs and Steve just about chokes on air.

 

“If you-- _what_ \--”

 

“ _Want. It_ ,” Billy emphasizes and that same low tenor is back. It’s the charm that Billy normally uses with moms to get his way, except now it’s tinged with heat and there’s a current of want in his voice that makes Steve’s toes curl in his shoes.

 

“You’re in heat, so you can’t mean--”

 

Except Billy’s weight shifts, and suddenly, Steve isn’t the one holding them up anymore. His back collides with the wall, vines trembling beneath the force of it. Billy’s hands are on his chest, his fingers pressing grooves into the muscles. Steve looks down into Billy’s face and he can see the fire there, the determination.

 

“No one,” Billy snarls and it sounds dangerous despite his heat, “tells me what I don’t… and do want, _Harrington_.”

 

Steve licks his lips and then growls. The noise vibrates off the walls and he watches how Billy’s pupils blow wide. He sees the way his lips, ruddy and full, part. Whatever expression Billy had before crumbles to what Steve knows is want and he wants more of _that_. He wants to see Billy taken apart, brought down to nothing by his mouth and his hands.

 

“So, you _do_ want me,” Steve’s eyes drop to Billy’s mouth as his tongue pokes out to lick them. “I mean. You said I shouldn’t tell you what you want, but that means you _do_ want me.”

 

Billy still grips him, still watches him like a hawk despite the heat his body is putting him through. He looks like he’s thinking about it, like Steve is inadvertently telling him what he wants even though he’s _using_ Billy’s logic.

 

Finally, Billy huffs and tries to push away. Steve watches how his muscles flex and then give, but before he lands on the ground, he catches Billy around the waist and holds him close to his chest. Like this, he can feel the heat and how _damp_ Billy is in his jeans.

 

Which means Billy can feel how hard he is.

 

Which explains why Billy is squirming and choking on sounds that sound suspiciously like whimpers.

 

 _Fuck him_.

 

“Okay. We _really_ gotta get out,” Steve looks left and right and then all of his attention is back on Billy because he rolls his hips, grinds into him with another sound that shoots straight into Steve’s dick. Their jeans are rough, but the sensation is dizzying combined with the heat and warmth of Billy’s scent. He struggles to think for a moment and tries to breathe through the wave of _claim_ that chokes him.

 

“I thought you all were _dead_!”

 

Steve thinks it’s probably a good thing that Dustin’s voice rings down at them. He’s leaning precariously over the hole, which Steve will yell at him about later, but right now? He needs to get heat-saturated Billy out of here.

 

“I stole my dad’s ladder,” Lucas calls down.

 

“So send it _down_ ,” Steve snarls and he ignores the startled expressions staring down at him. The ladder falls with a couple of clacks and Steve adjusts Billy in his hold, who is still flushed and breathing too heavily. “Hey, _hey_ , Billy. You need to pay attention, okay? Try. I’m going to carry you up this ladder, but you gotta climb onto my back.”

 

Billy, at least, seems to understand him. Steve watches him nod, a small tilt of a thing, and then Steve is squatting down so Billy can climb onto his back. He doesn’t have to tell Billy to hold on. He can feel the strength of Billy’s thighs around his waist, his ankles locking against his stomach. Billy tangles his arms around Steve’s shoulders, and for a moment, all Steve can think about is the heat sinking through his clothes.

 

The shrieks of the demodogs yank Steve into the present. He reaches down and anchors one hand against Billy’s left thigh. He tries, desperately, to ignore how damp Billy’s jeans are as he steps forward and begins the process of climbing the ladder with an extra person on his back. It doesn’t take as long as Steve thought it would, but by the time he gets there, he’s breathless and for more reasons than just carrying Billy. The scent of sugar and cinnamon above ground isn’t mixed with death and rot. It’s full, a layer of sweet on Steve’s tongue, a punch to his gut. It’s everything and too much.

 

“We sent _you_ down to save _Steve_ ,” Dustin points out as he struggles with Lucas to tug the ladder up and out of the hole. “Not the other way around!”

 

“What?” Steve eases Billy to his feet and then immediately takes on most of his weight. “You sent _him_ to save me? I was _fine_!”

 

“You couldn’t beat him in a fight, so…” Max pitches her shoulders in a shrug and the rest nod. Steve exhales slowly and tightens his grip around Billy’s waist. Billy, who is making the quietest sounds in his throat. Steve figures he knows the kids are there and them seeing what state he’s in isn’t something he wants.

 

“We’ll talk about this _later_ ,” Steve grinds out and then he pauses. “Wait. How did you _get here_?”

 

“Bikes, _duh_ ,” Mike gestures and Steve doesn’t have time to look. He doesn’t have time for _any_ of this.

 

“Okay, you know what? You little shits--”

 

“He’s spending too much time around Billy--”

 

“--are getting _back_ onto your bikes--”

 

“Maybe we should leave Billy here?”

 

“--and I’m going to drive right behind you and make sure you get home,” Steve finishes. There’s collective arguing, too much for him to decipher any of it. “ _Hey,_ ” He snaps because Billy’s grip on him is getting tighter. “Get on your bikes and let’s _go_.”

 

“What’s wrong with Billy?” Max presses. “Did one of the dogs get him?”

 

“Don’t worry about Billy,” Steve begins to half-drag, half carry Billy toward his BMW. “I’ve got him.”

 

“He said _Billy_ ,” Dustin throws his hands up in the air. “I didn’t think they were _that close_!”

 

Steve could just run them over, but then he would need a new paint job in addition to a lot of goddamn paperwork to fill out. He points at the bikes with his free hand and then tugs his passenger door open. It’s easier than it should be to get Billy down into the seat. He’s been almost unresponsive except for his tiny noises and the way his fingers keep clenching up in Steve’s shirt. He needs to get Billy home before he does something _stupid_.

 

Once the party is on their bikes and Steve is in the driver’s seat, he flicks his lights on and turns the engine over. He knows that he wouldn’t actually run any of them over, but he will run a demodog over if he manages to catch sight of one. The kids just cannot be in the same car while Billy is diving face-first into his heat. It is _so_ not his job to explain that to a gaggle of middle schoolers.

 

“I’m going to get you home,” Steve murmurs and it’s meant to be calming, but Billy’s entire body goes rigid and Steve can hear the hiss of breath. He recognizes panic when he sees it, and it’s written all over Billy’s face. There’s a stark contrast between the Billy now, in his passenger seat, and the Billy he’s gotten to know over the last couple of months.

 

It took awhile for him to get Billy to crack a real smile.

 

It took even longer for Billy to let any of his guards down.

 

Now? Now it looks like Steve’s dumped a bucket of ice water on him.

 

“No,” Billy blurts it out, a half-plea, half-demand. “No. _No_. He’ll--he makes _sure_ I take the medicine. He’ll _kill_ me. Steve, you gotta--you need--I need--”

 

Steve isn’t stupid. _He_ is Neil, Billy’s dad. They don’t talk about Billy’s home life, _ever_. If on random nights, Steve helped Billy patch some cuts up, they don’t talk about it. If there are frozen bags of vegetables in Steve’s freezer just for Billy’s ribs and his face, they still don’t talk about it. _It_ was a topic that if Steve so much as mentioned it, the barriers he had so far managed to break down were built back up in moments. Seconds. A breath.

 

Their relationship had been fragile at best, glass lined with cracks that had already been pieced back together once, threatening to shatter. Now, Steve is driving while watching the party and trying to figure out what to do with Billy.

 

“Okay,” Steve agrees, “I won’t take you home. It’s fine. I won’t do that.”

 

The panic bleeds out of Billy, but it sticks with Steve. He thinks frantically about what to do, what to say, especially as they approach Dustin’s house. The kids slow on the bikes and then drop them in the yard. When they turn around, Steve points at the house with his best _get the hell in the house_ look. The only one who doesn’t is Max, whose eyes are on Billy. She’s chewing on her lower lip and Steve sighs. His shoulders feel as if bricks are weighing them down, and Billy’s squirming in his passenger seat isn’t _helping_.

 

Steve wants to roll his windows down, but he also doesn’t want every single alpha in Hawkins to know he has an omega in heat in his car. He just can’t _think_ with Billy’s scent in his nose, his throat, swirling in his head. It takes every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the road, but somehow, they make it into Steve’s driveway. He unbuckles his seatbelt, but before he can actually get anywhere, Billy climbs over the console and into his lap.

 

That sugar-sweet scent swamps him. Steve can barely breathe and then he actually _can’t_ because Billy’s lips, warm and a little chapped, are pressing over his. He gasps through his nose and then drops his hands to Billy’s hips. He must have been distracted on the drive, because his hands meet hot skin instead of jeans.

 

Billy is almost naked.

 

Billy is almost _completely_ naked and in heat on his lap.

 

Steve’s cock kicks against his zipper and he groans as Billy’s mouth trails down his jaw and to his neck. Distantly, he recognizes that he should probably not be giving in so easily, but Billy is undoing his jeans, his zipper, pushing his briefs down enough to pull his cock out into his hot palm. It’s exhilarating, watching Billy in just his button up on his lap, desperate for what Steve knows he needs.

 

Billy dips down over him, and Steve isn’t sure why until the back of his seat falls. He grunts as it hits the back passenger seat and then opens his eyes. Billy is on top of him, slick with sweat, panting, eyes bright blue and lips so pink. He’s gorgeous with his curls sticking to his cheeks, his neck, even with bits of demodog blood smeared over his skin.

 

Especially with the blood painting his skin.

 

It’s in that moment, with his eyes on Billy, that it hits him: Billy went into those tunnels looking for him. He was fighting to get Steve out. He’s on pills to manage his heats and he went into an environment he’s never been in before. Steve thinks about the ash, the taste of the place, the way it makes his blood feel like it’s boiling under his skin.

 

“Billy,” Steve starts and he’s breathless as Billy captures his mouth again. They kiss and Billy tastes like cookies and want. He tastes like Steve thought Nancy would. He tastes more like home than anything he’s ever put on his tongue.

 

Fuck it. They can talk about the tunnels later.

 

Steve hooks a hand on Billy’s hip and grips the base of his own cock with the other. He tugs Billy forward, swallows the moan coaxed from Billy’s throat, and presses the head of his cock against his hole. Billy’s slick enough that he catches the rim and slides along the crevice of his ass. The noise that comes out of Billy, half-pleased, half-frustrated, almost makes Steve laugh.

 

But he’s just as impatient.

 

“Hold still,” Steve murmurs and he’s shocked when Billy actually does. He lifts his hips again and pushes his cock against that tight ring of muscle until it gives. The head of his cock slips past it and he’s almost dizzy with how good it is. “Fuck,” he lets go of the base of his cock and catches Billy’s jaw.

 

Billy is panting, mouth open and eyes hazy. Steve pulls him down into a kiss, but they’re just breathing against each other in as he fills Billy up with his cock. He can feel all of the tension seep out of Billy. Coming back just as fast when Steve drops his hips down, the head of his cock just barely caught inside Billy’s hole, his back arched like a comma.

 

Steve hears Billy growl, a low, threatening thing and he clips his teeth over Billy’s lower lip. After sucking for a moment, he takes his hand away from Billy’s face and settles it on his opposite hip. With both hands steadying Billy, it’s easy to hold him still so he can thrust up into his body. Each time Steve sinks into him, he’s overwhelmed by the heat, the gasps, the whimpers.

 

At some point, Steve expects Billy to take over again. He doesn’t. He stays arched on Steve’s lap, one hand steadied on Steve’s chest. Billy does pull back just enough so he can grab the handle next to the driver’s window. His knuckles grip white, and like this, Steve can watch how he disappears into his body, the way Billy’s cock moves against his stomach, how each thrust tightens up his muscles and forces his spine to arch.

 

It’s beautiful. It’s everything Steve thought it would be and more.

 

The scent of clove fills the cabin and it startles Steve. It’s his marking scent--his _I’m not going to let you go_ scent. He looks up as his hips still because he expects Billy to lash out, to push him away. Instead, Billy licks along his teeth, his lips, and then he lets go of the handle. When Billy drops down, they kiss again, slow and a little sweeter than Steve would have expected. Billy rolls his hips, takes over, swallows Steve up with every rock of his body and drag of his tongue.

 

“Alpha,” Billy purrs against his lips and that’s all it takes for Steve to feel that pressure in his body let go. He groans and pushes up until he can’t anymore. When he tries to pull away to prevent his knot from catching, Billy sinks down and growls. “ _Mine_ ,” Billy breathes against his jaw and Steve shudders.

 

“Yours,” Steve agrees and the feeling of swelling inside of Billy, of knotting him, is almost good enough to lose what minuscule brain function he has left. Instead, he wraps his fingers around Billy’s cock, still dripping and hard. He tangles his other hand into Billy’s curls and pulls until his throat is bared. At the same time that he sinks his teeth into Billy’s throat, he squeezes and starts to stroke his cock.

 

Billy’s muscles spasm hard, milking his cock. Steve can feel his body tightening up, his muscles coiling tight while he pants into his hair. He keeps his teeth locked into Billy’s throat and he forces his hips up as much as he can. Billy takes a sharp breath and then whimpers, something high-pitched and eager, and then he spills over Steve’s stomach.

 

It takes a moment, but Billy goes easy and pliant against Steve’s chest. When Steve finally lets go of his grip on Billy’s throat, he drags his tongue over the wound he left behind.

 

~*~

 

When his eyes open and his thoughts register, Billy realizes that he’s sore as hell, he’s exhausted, starving, and he could probably use a beer. He blinks dazedly at the ceiling and then his eyebrows knit together. It isn’t his ceiling. He blinks again, tries to wash away the fog settled over his brain, and runs his palms over his face.

 

“Hey,” Steve’s voice startles him enough that he almost jerks out of the bed. He looks over, his heart pounding in his chest and his mouth dry from panic. Steve is watching him with his wide eyes, concern etched all over his face.

 

“Shit,” Billy sits up, yanks the sheets off of his lap, and then tries to get out of bed. The soreness is a stark reminder of what he had spent the last few days doing in Steve’s bed, in his kitchen, the hall. His _car_. “Shit. _Shit_ ,” he drags his fingers through his hair and sinks back down onto the bed. It’s blurry, his heat, but he remembers a lot of _yours_ and _mine_ and, right behind that, the chasing feeling of warmth, of belonging.

 

Panic wells into his chest and Billy bends over the side of the bed, chest to his knees and breathes in raggedly through his nose. There’s warmth on his back. Steve’s hands slide over his spine, his shoulders, along his arms, and then Steve is settling close. Billy somehow ends up in between his legs and Steve’s arms circle his waist.

 

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs and Billy wants to laugh, but his breath catches on the burn and taste of salt in the back of his throat.

 

“How is it _okay_?” Billy bites out. He digs his elbows into his knees and presses his palms against his eyes. “He’ll _know_. Fuck. I smell like you. I--”

 

“Billy,” Steve’s grip on him tightens and Billy just wants _out_. He wants to get away. No shower will wash off Steve’s scent, though, not after a heat. The side of his throat is sore, too, so he knows Steve has bitten him. That doesn’t even bother him, but the idea of facing his old man, of being dragged by his hair, leaves his blood frozen under his skin and dread gnawing into his stomach. “Billy, listen to me--”

 

“ _What_?” Billy snaps and Steve doesn’t even flinch. He snarls to himself and hates that he isn’t moving away, that his instincts are saying _stay_ and _safe_.

 

“I won’t let him,” Steve says firmly, and there’s a note there that Billy has only ever heard when he made comments about the shitbirds. There’s defensiveness in his voice-- _possession_. Something oily and dark curls in Billy’s chest, a lesser-than feeling that makes him want to punch a wall.

 

“I’m not weak,” Billy adds, his anger thinning out his voice, “I’m not some omega that needs to be taken care of. I’m not--I’m _not_ \--”

 

Steve squeezes tighter and Billy’s teeth clamp down on the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood and the saltiness of tears.

 

“You’re not,” Steve agrees. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. Still, that doesn’t mean that I can’t… you know. Be there. I won’t let him hurt you. We have Hop, and he’s the biggest alpha I know. Well, I thought it was you. But, Billy--”

 

Billy snarls again and Steve pinches his side.

 

“ _Look_ , listen. Billy, I’m _glad_ ,” Steve insists and the grip on his waist stays tight, firm. “I’m glad you’re not an alpha. I’m glad I can--I can call you _mine_. I’ve always wanted--I mean. I’ve _wanted_ you. You know? For a while now.”

 

For a second, everything stills for Billy. He can hear the way his lungs rattle when he breathes. There’s ringing in his ears similar to the type he gets after Neil hits a bit too hard. Steve just said _I’ve wanted you_. He used past tense. Want _ed_. Steve’s--

 

“You _want_ me?” Billy asks and the doubt in his voice makes him want to claw his own eyes out.

 

“Yes,” Steve’s admittance can only be compared to a muscle relaxer. Billy eases in his grip and tilts his head so he can look back up at the ceiling he had woken up to. “And we’ll figure it out,” there’s promise in Steve’s voice when he says it, and for the first time in years, Billy believes it.

 

“Okay,” Billy agrees, “together.”

 

 

 


End file.
